


Requiem

by PontiusHermes



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Chapel, Darkness, Death, Gen, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Mourning, Music, Religious text, Silence, Singing, Tears, care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PontiusHermes/pseuds/PontiusHermes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik comforts a grieving Mme. Giry.<br/>*I am using Mme. Giry from the musical and not the book*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

He was dead. The chapel walls rose dark and imposing, compressing and claustrophobic around her kneeling form. He was dead. The thought rang through the silence, echoing and echoing and… he was dead. 

Still in her black veil and dress, Mme. Giry could feel the coldness of the stone surrounding her. Her candle burnt down, slowly suffocating itself in a pool of wax. Exhaustion pressed upon her eyes and head, but the night of his funeral was the night she would wait up with him, the night she would mourn. 

He had been a good husband, she reflected. Quietly thoughtful, gentle, his smile brimful with that same soaring music he could coax from his cello. That music, gone now forever.

 

_'Lacrimosa dies illa,_

_Qua resurget ex favilla,_

_Judicandus homo reus._

_Huic ergo parce, Deus_

_Pie Jesu Domine,_

_Dona eis requiem. Amen'_

 

Soft and yet resonant, the voice crescendo'd from a pianissimo so quiet she could scarcely believe a human voice could sing so softly while retaining a tune. A shiver blossomed down her spine; whether from cold or awe she could not say. A requiem. Erik was singing a requiem. Almost as soon as he finished the final note, he moved into another tune, faster and a little wilder. The tune was unfamiliar, and yet she felt as though the confusion, the desperate pain and grief she carried hidden inside had been turned into this swirling music. His voice filled the chapel with a sound like wind -- unfettered, saying at once nothing and something. So consumed by listening, it was only when he finished and the silence gaped like a wound that she realised her cheeks were wet with tears. 

"It is meant for the organ," said his voice behind her. She turned. For once he had not thrown his voice, but had deigned to emerge from the walls himself. He put a gloved hand on her shoulder. "That piece, my Requiem Mass. It is meant for organ. I have been waiting for someone to dedicate it to. I was wondering… I was wondering, Madame, would you allow me to… dedicate it to your husband?" 

His voice was earnest and hesitant, apologetic as though what he offered was not a shining gift to be reached for with both hands, but a frivolous embarrassment offered in haste and to be accepted in politeness. 

'Erik… you did not know him. Surely… I am touched to the core of my heart by your offer, but you did not know him and, shouldn't you dedicate it to someone who means something to you?' 

Erik was silent as though in thought. 'He meant something to you,' he eventually said quietly. 'For me, that is enough.'

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Pontius


End file.
